


Better

by HalfBakedPoet



Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [16]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alien Biology, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, First Aid, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Post-Episode: s12e01-02 Spyfall, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, Vignettes, if you can call it a medical procedure lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24929905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfBakedPoet/pseuds/HalfBakedPoet
Summary: If I kiss you where it's sore, will you feel better? Will you feel anything at all?Three times the Doctor kisses Yaz better and once Yaz returns the favor.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor & Yasmin Khan & Graham O'Brien & Ryan Sinclair, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Series: One Shot, Two Shot, Some Shots, Blue Box [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668127
Comments: 23
Kudos: 57
Collections: Sloshed Saturday





	Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Champagne_Vagabond](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne_Vagabond/gifts).



_“Ow,_ damn.” The Doctor looked up from chopping carrots in time to see Yaz stick the edge of her thumb in her mouth.

“You okay?” Though unreliable, her nose could still be sharp: even over pungent simmering spices, the Doctor could smell a little burnt skin. She laid the knife along the cutting board and crossed the kitchen.

“Yeah, just burned my thumb,” muttered Yaz, glowering at it.

“Mind if I take a look?” asked the Doctor, not waiting for an answer before she scooped Yaz’s hand between her own, inspecting the little red spot beside Yaz’s thumbnail.

“It were just a touch, nothing serious,” muttered Yaz. “Shoulda been more careful around the pot…” She looked forlornly at the curry bubbling deep yellow on the stove.

“A little shiny, can’t be worse than first degree,” murmured the Doctor, patting Yaz’s knuckles. “Got a quick fix for that, no worries. Perks to hanging around a doctor.” She reached deep into a pocket and produced an adhesive bandage with a flourish and a grin. “Minor burn-specific bandage. Keeps cool, you won’t feel a thing after a minute.” Unwrapping it, the Doctor took Yaz’s hand again and tenderly applied the printed fabric around Yaz’s thumb. “Better?”

“Yeah, loads already,” said Yaz, staring hard at her hand, her cheeks tinged. “TARDIS print, even on plasters?”

“I’ve told you she makes ‘em special,” said the Doctor. Without thinking, she lifted Yaz’s hand and kissed her thumb, barely a brush of her tingling lips against the bandage, and she felt Yaz stiffen at the touch. Which was odd: it wasn’t the first time she’d kissed an injury, and that was the essential procedure. The Doctor could count nearly a hundred other occasions she’d done it, and Ryan and Graham hadn’t minded. Not really. At least, not in a way that would cause them to blush so profusely. She thought it best not to call too much attention to it, handing Yaz the discarded ladle before returning to her carrots, all rough-hewn in different-sized shapes. “Somehow, I don’t think this is what the recipe meant by ‘julienne the vegetables’?”

A while before, the Doctor had taken it upon herself as the resident medical staff to apply a kiss to any wound she happened to patch. Medical procedure, she said, very serious, very necessary stuff, as Ryan was prone to scraped knees and elbows and even Graham took a tumble from time to time. And humans were so _breakable,_ their lifespans shortened by things like falling off a roof or tripping on appliance cords. Or earthquakes and resulting landslides on a tectonic planet like Nerayus. Only the best care for her fam would suffice, and that meant kissing it better. However, this practice lasted a maximum of three times between Ryan and Graham before they started to protest.

“I’m not four,” Ryan said. “Feels insulting, you kissing my scrapes. ‘Specially since I can’t control when it happens.” The Doctor had just stitched a particularly nasty cut on his forearm, and iced a bruise on his cheek, ending each with a kiss before attending to the others. Ice pack in hand, Ryan crossed his arms as he watched her scurry between her patients in the medical bay, various first aid supplies trailing along the floor in her wake.

“The landslide was unexpected, I’ll give you that,” said the Doctor, rummaging in a cabinet. “I should’ve checked the seismic activity before we left the TARDIS. Sorry,” she added, shooting him an expression rumpled with guilt. She found a roll of coban and added it to the pile in her arms.

“What I can’t work out,” said Graham, groaning as he applied ice to a bump above his left eyebrow, “is why you all but leap out of the way from a hug but you’re all but tripping over yourself to kiss our boo boos?”

“You’ve all got Artron energy fizzing in you,” said the Doctor, coiling the plum-colored cohesive bandage around Yaz’s wrist. “I’ve told you the procedure, it’s strictly medical. Artron particles boost the immune system and they have an extra temporal property of accelerating healing, which is activated with an ounce of tender care. Doesn’t cure _everything_ and it’s not as good as my temporal platelets, anyway. But nothing a little love can’t hurt, and they’ll keep out infection better than general antibiotics alone. Usually.” She finished wrapping Yaz’s wrist, trimming the bandage from the roll. “I’m just sorry they can’t protect you better against landslides and earthquakes. Fragile things, you lot.” She finished Yaz’s wrist with a kiss before handing her an ice pack. “I ought to wrap you in armor or summat soft… bubble wrap?” She noted the awkward expressions that met hers and relented. “All right, not bubble wrap, but something cushy to—”

“Excuse me, I’m not fragile!” said Graham. He winced as the Doctor sealed a small cut on his cheek with a butterfly bandage and kissed that, too.

“But, you _are,_ Graham,” said the Doctor grimly. “Unfortunately. Need all the help you can get. Rather handy, those Artron particles, if you ask me. Think of where you’d be without them, all banged up for weeks on end. Can’t have my fam falling apart on me!”

“I think it’s sweet,” said Yaz. “Artron particles need a little incentive to get going.” She rubbed her wrist where the Doctor had kissed it, the coban crackling a little.

“Exactly! Gold star for Yaz,” said the Doctor happily, her back turned to the fam as she returned bandages, ointments, and gauze to their respective drawers and shelves. “Fickle stuff, Artron energy. Needs encouragement.”

Ryan prodded Yaz, and she gave him the smallest shove before the Doctor turned around again with stickers for good patient behavior.

Late one night, the TARDIS hummed a soft warning at the Doctor, who lay flat on her back under the control room floor in a shower of sparks. Her welding goggles flared in the ephemeral light, nose scrunched at the fusing metal. When met with no response, the TARDIS hummed again.

“What d’ya mean ‘distress signal’? What, in here?” The hissing sparks ceased and the Doctor craned her head as the TARDIS repeated herself. “What’s Yaz doing awake at…” Her brow furrowed as she counted back the hours. “…Four in the morning? Well. Closest thing to four in the morning you can get here…” Less gracefully than she would have liked, the Doctor shimmied back out to sit on the floor, shucking gloves and goggles, her feet still dangling in the hole in the floor. She adjusted her neck, and the TARDIS chimed, more urgently. “All right, you, I’m going…”

The warm hall lights cast a shadow to follow her echoing footsteps as she found her way to Yaz’s room. She gently tapped on the door. “Yaz?” she called, “The TARDIS said you were up, can I come in?” Was that a sniffle on the other side? “Yaz?” called the Doctor again, straining her ears. Carefully, she turned the handle and sidled into the room through the crack of light. Her eyes adjusted in the dark, and she could hear clearer: Yaz was indeed sniffling into her pillow, huddled trembling under the covers. The Doctor padded closer to sit on the edge of the bed. In the shift, Yaz’s shaking, and even her breathing, ceased, and the Doctor hesitated to rest a hand on her shoulder, opting instead to settle it beside her own hip on the edge of the mattress. Words were a struggle, each reassurance roiling in her brain, elbowing towards her mouth to be first into the open. Yaz’s name won out.

“Yaz,” she murmured into the dark, “you okay? No, don’t answer that. How long’ve you been up? Ah, you don’t have to answer that, either.” Her hand lifted again to land on the blanket, smoothing circles into Yaz’s back through the fabric. “Nightmare?” asked the Doctor finally, and she heard Yaz nod, her hair displaced against the pillow with a hushing sound. “Is there… is there something I can do? I mean, can I help? Should I go? Oh,” she said, stemming the tide of questions. “I should go. Leave you be.” She moved to rise from the bed, but Yaz’s hand closed around her wrist before her feet touched the floor. The Doctor didn’t mean to flinch.

Yaz rolled over, tear trails shining on her cheeks in the strip of hall light, a yellow line across her puffy eyes. With tentative fingers, the Doctor brushed aside a loose strand of Yaz’s hair. Why was it so much easier to patch scrapes and stitch wounds than to find something comforting to say? Chalk it up to the professionalism of medical training, she thought, blinking softly down at Yaz. Still a little socially awkward to figure out bedside manner, probably wasn’t going to outgrow it.

“You want me to stay?” Another nod. “All right, then, budge up if you don’t mind,” the Doctor whispered, and Yaz slid sideways to allow her more room. Over the bedspread, boots still laced, the Doctor cradled Yaz to her chest, an awkward shuffle of limbs and adjusting bodies until they found a fit, the blanket a taut barrier between them. “Did you want to talk about it or should I just stay still and be quiet?”

“You’re not very good at silence,” mumbled Yaz against the Doctor’s shirt, a catch in her throat. Though ordinarily she’d have acted offended, the Doctor chuckled.

“No, I suppose you’re right.” Yaz allowed the Doctor to hold her, and for a moment, in the sound of their slow breathing, the Doctor thought she’d fallen asleep.

“It were the Kassavin,” said Yaz, breaking the silence with a strain in her voice. “I didn’t think I’d be transported somewhere you couldn’t find me. Somewhere I couldn’t leave or find a way out.” She swallowed. “I thought I’d died.”

“I’m sorry,” said the Doctor, her stomachs sinking. “It wasn’t like that for me, but then, I’ve been in tighter spots.” The back of her neck prickled. Refocus, Doctor, she chided herself. “Must’ve been scary for you.”

“Terrifying,” admitted Yaz. “Haven’t been able to sleep much since. But I thought… since the Master, anyway… you’ve been…”

The Doctor pressed her nose into Yaz’s hair, her hearts sinking with her stomachs. “Preoccupied, yeah,” she agreed. She could have slapped herself. What was it she’d read about late nights foisting honesty even upon liars? But if she scrolled back in her memory, she’d have remembered to notice the shadows under Yaz’s eyes at breakfast, the careful deflection, the _I’m alright_ ’s and the stifled yawns and the extra coffee. Maybe she’d been stupid and selfish this whole time, focused so much on losing Gallifrey again that she’d forgotten to check in with the fam.

_Get you out of your mardy mood._

_My mood’s fine._

The Doctor squeezed her eyebrows closer together, her mouth thinning into a line. “I do try to be careful as I can with you,” she said weakly. And it wasn’t enough, was it? The universe always found chinks in the armor, soft spots to prod that left her companions reeling at best. She didn’t want to acknowledge the alternatives; nightmares were perhaps some of the best outcomes. 

The silence that fell wasn’t uncomfortable, not all the way. But then Yaz yawned, wedging herself more securely under the Doctor’s chin, her forehead pressed to the Doctor’s neck.

“Feels safe with you here, though,” mumbled Yaz, and the Doctor felt a small surge of warmth in her chest as an idea struck her.

“Can I give you a better dream?”

“Hm?”

“Just a telepathic touch to set your brain on course. Neat trick of Granny Five’s. Get those brain waves moving towards pleasant sleep.” Yaz nodded her heavy head, breathing slowly as she loosened her grasp on wakefulness and the edge of the Doctor’s coat. It could be an abstract dream, the Doctor thought, mustering as many memories of tea at Yaz’s, gold stars, rain bathing, and stickers as she could. The memory of Yaz’s smile at the new year’s fireworks, the lights and shapes of explosions that would have been impossible on Earth shining in her eyes. “Ready?” Yaz nodded again, and the Doctor kissed the top of her head, transferring a drop of her consciousness, that concentrated positive thought, to Yaz’s brain through her lips. She felt Yaz’s tension ease, fingers uncurling as she drifted off, and for hours she held her there, until Yaz let go to roll over just before dawn.

“Doctor, you alright?” Yaz’s question faded into focus and it occurred to the Doctor that she had asked multiple times. Did she _have_ to force another reassuring smile? _For Yaz, yes_ , she told herself firmly, even if the resulting grin felt gritted and empty, a grimace, just a flash of teeth. The TARDIS gave a low chirp, and she shook her head.

“’M fine,” said the Doctor, feeling none of the confidence that left her lips. Her light head spun in the much same way it did when she’d just regenerated: that semi-unnerving thrill of reaching for an unknown, the slipping grasp on the solidity of who she was before. Too slippery; the Doctor could feel the sudden descent, the plunge into icy newness she hadn’t prepared for; she was drowning. Nasty way to die, drowning, she thought. And she remembered all the instantly mended broken bones and organs on the train, every one of her cells still consumed with reinventing themselves. Microscopic golden phoenixes, burning and reborn. 

_Must be painful, love._

_You’ve no idea._

She recalled lecturing Grace and Graham on regeneration, _echoes of who I was, and a sort of call towards who I am…_ But it felt wrong; she wanted to be sick, to be rid of at least some of the cells that couldn’t remember who they had replaced time and again. Where was the echo, cut short? Where was the responding call? It was all reverb at this point, just tuneless white noise bouncing around in her aching head. 

_I know my life._

_Everything is about to change._

_I know who I am._

_Everything you know is a lie._

How long had it been since Gallifrey? Hadn’t she accepted it already? Why was she still _on_ this? She kept a firm grasp on the hope of discovering herself anew, and just when she felt like she had a good handle on herself, every time, she slipped. More than the dizzying, repeated dips into mourning and the sorrow, it was _frustrating_ , the way that wound kept reopening to bleed. The Doctor scrubbed her eyes with a fist, scowling at a monitor.

“Doctor,” said Yaz gently, fingers closing on her sleeve, pulling her into focus on the ground again. How long had she been swaying on the spot? How long had her knees been shaking and her grip on the console been knuckled white? “Maybe you should sit down.”

The Doctor shook her head. She might not get back up if she did. “Told you I’m fine…” She couldn’t keep her face smooth anymore; that telling crease between her brows would be back at the very least. The corner of her mouth twitched.

“No, you’re not.” Yaz’s statement was gentle, if jarring. The Doctor met Yaz’s eyes, closer than she expected. “We’ve discussed this. It’s okay. You don’t have to be okay.”

“For you, I do.”

“Quit being stubborn. You take care of us, best you can. Doesn’t have to be every second, we _are_ adults.” Yaz’s fist tightened on the Doctor’s sleeve as her voice lowered. “You’ve… you’ve got Artron particles, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You’re always on about Artron particles accelerating healing when you patch us up.” Yaz bit her lip. “You pick us up when we fall, kiss it better where it hurts but… who’s doing that for you?”

“I don’t expect quid pro quo from you, Yaz—”

“But I was offering all the same,” she said, eyes shining sharply. “You don’t have to be strong all the time.” The Doctor broke eye contact to watch her fingertip twiddle a dial on the console, the gadget clicking. There was a beat in the thrum of the TARDIS agreeing before Yaz spoke again. “Will you let me?” Her eyes flew back to Yaz’s. “Kiss it better? If it’ll help a little. I mean, I know it won’t fix everything… it’s not the same, but…” The Doctor blinked. Yaz’s brow furrowed. “It can’t hurt,” she finished.

Another long moment followed, and, regarding Yaz, still clinging to her sleeve, the Doctor felt the muscles in her face slacken. When did Yasmin Khan get so wise? No, she’d always been persistent and observant. Kind. All the while speaking her language; the polarity reversed on doctor and patient. 

“Go on, then,” she whispered, and Yaz let go of her sleeve, half in surprise, disbelief in her wide eyes. But then, it was gone and she’d taken a quick breath before placing both her hands on the Doctor’s cheeks to pull her closer.

On tiptoe, Yaz pressed her lips to the Doctor’s forehead, and the Doctor felt the spark of Artron particles brought to life, fizzling warmly under her skin. Tiny fireworks of energy, rocketing and tingling. A hopeful parachute on her long fall, setting her gently on the ground, sore and battered. But better. At least, a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya!
> 
> Shameless throwback to earlier in this fic series. All the cred to Regina Spektor for the song lyrics and title.
> 
> I should let y'all know now I'm going on fic hiatus through July. Got a new project to work on that's gonna take all my writing time for at least a month, but I hope to be back soon enough!
> 
> As always, smash any buttons you like, comments are wonderful things, and remember to be kind to yourselves and others. And wash your hands. And wear masks when you go out.
> 
> Cheers, see you in August,  
> Jo


End file.
